


Need

by maurheti



Category: Southland
Genre: Adrenaline Response, Anal Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-10
Updated: 2013-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-26 05:34:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/962193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maurheti/pseuds/maurheti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes after a bad day, sex is the only thing that makes life better. </p><p>(For potential warnings, see end notes.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Need

“What. The fuck. Sherman.” John’s eyes are slitted; he looks furious, shifting his gaze back and forth from Ben to the condom he reflexively caught when Ben threw it at him. Ben would be worried, but he sees the bulge in John’s jeans. He knows he’s going to get what he wants; he just needs to turn John’s higher brain functions off. 

So even though they’re still standing in his hallway, he steps out of the shorts he just shoved down his legs. They join the T-shirt he dropped on the floor right before he threw John the condom. He slides one hand back up his thigh, cupping his balls, fingers loosely circling his cock. He has a bottle of lube in his other hand, warming it up. 

_“Sherman.”_ John’s voice is like ice. Of course he’s been on the edge of some kind of emotional outburst all day -- they both have. Ben’s just giving him an excuse. It figures John would choose to go with anger.

This day... This day has been all sorts of bad. It started nasty with a messy gang shootout and ended even worse with a little boy bludgeoned to death against a wall. By his mother. Ben is still buzzing with adrenaline, twitchy with it. He also has too many horrific new pictures in his brain. 

_“You’ll get used to it,” John told him when he’d finally tracked Ben down in the incongruously immaculate back yard of the house in which the boy had been found. Ben just looked at him. John had shaken his head, eyes hard. ”You have to get used to it or it will seriously fuck you up.”_

Ben doesn’t want to get used to four-year-olds with caved-in skulls that look like something inexpertly made out of Play-Doh. He doesn’t think John is used to that, either, no matter what he says. Kids are always the worst.

Sometimes you just need sex. None of the building-up-to-it-slowly thing, or the talking-it-over-during-a-few-dinner-dates thing; just plain sex. No discussion. No frills. No games. Just _yes, right there._ Just _more._ Just _jesusgod, please._ Affirmation of life, adrenaline response -- he’s read the psychology texts. Whatever. Sex just works. Sometimes it’s the only thing that does. And after this day...

After this day, Ben invited John over, persuading him with the promise of some 21-year-old single malt. It’s understandable that John is a little taken aback by the fact that he’s just been given a condom instead. But Ben is tired of being patient, of pretending not to notice when John checks out his ass. Sometimes the issue needs to be forced. 

John is still thinking too hard. John is still thinking, period. Ben can practically hear him debating the best exit strategy, still pretending to be angry about being lured here with no Scotch in sight. Or perhaps he’s just angry at being found out. Ben smiles at that thought. Too fucking bad.

John starts backing toward the front door. Ben licks his lips, moves his whole hand up his cock. John stops moving. Ben almost laughs out loud. John’s strategy sucks. Ben’s is much better: he’s been thinking about this since they got back to the precinct at the end of their shift. He thought about it in the shower. He thought about it when he carefully flashed John while getting dressed. He thought about it when he made a detour to the drugstore for the condoms and the lube. 

He’s been hard for hours.

Ben upends the lube bottle with one hand, the other still around his cock, spreading the precome around the head. “What I really want is for you to fuck me into this wall right now,” he says conversationally, throwing a glance over his shoulder at the wall in question. 

John’s eyes go wide. “Jesus. That’s enough, Sherman.” He doesn’t leave, though, and his voice sounds scratchy. 

“But that would probably fuck up your back,” Ben continues. He flicks the top open with his thumb, letting the lube trickle into his palm. “So we’re going to do this --” Ben drops the bottle, reaches his hand behind him, and slides two fingers up his ass. God _damn_. “-- differently,” he manages. He needs to stay focused here. At least until he has John where he wants him.

John has gone totally still except for the muscle twitching in his jaw. His eyes are on Ben’s hands. Ben can feel himself starting to flush as he works his fingers in deeper. He can’t keep his breath from catching when he changes the angle slightly. He’s going a little too fast: even with the lube it burns like crazy. 

It’s worth it, though, when John exhales forcefully and stalks toward him. Part one of the mission successfully accomplished: higher brain functions officially turned off. John looks predatory. It sends another wave of lust through Ben’s body. 

John backs him up against the wall, one hand on his chest. For a moment they just stand there, looking at each other. Ben swallows at the intensity in John’s gaze, and then John’s hand moves up to Ben’s jaw, and John’s tongue is licking at his lips, delving inside his mouth, and _fuck,_ it’s obscene, the things he’s is doing.

Ben hears himself groaning, can’t stop himself, can’t move: one hand is trapped between the wall and his back, fingers still inside himself; the other between his dick and John’s thigh. He can feel John hot and hard against his hip.

John starts rocking against him, fucking his mouth in time with the roll of his hips. The motion pushes Ben’s fingers in deeper, and the friction on his dick... He squeezes the base of his cock, hard. John chuckles, stops moving. 

“That what you had in mind, Ben?” He’s whispering, mouth right up against Ben’s ear now, sending a wave of goosebumps down Ben’s neck and arms. 

Ben takes a shaky breath. Focus. 

“That’s... a good start.” He carefully lets go of his dick, taking another breath, concentrating on pushing John away just enough so that he can pull his fingers out and straighten his arm. God, his shoulder is going to hurt tomorrow in addition to his ass. 

“What would be even better, though?” He bends down to retrieve the lube, handing it to John. “Is having your cock inside of me.” He runs his hand down the front of John’s jeans, following the outline of his dick, lingering on the head. 

John closes his eyes, breath hitching. “Jesus, Ben.” 

“Which is why --” Ben crowds back into John, propelling him toward the living room, unbuckling John’s belt and popping the button on his jeans as he goes. “-- we need to do this --” He stops John in front of the couch, unzips his fly, and strips his pants and boxer briefs down his hips. Holy _shit._ “-- differently.” 

He pushes John down onto the sofa and climbs on top of him. Finally. “Shirt, off.” 

John raises his eyebrows, but lets Ben strip him. “Ben, we should maybe ta --” 

“No. We should fuck.” Ben grabs the condom out of John’s hand, rips the foil open, rolls it on a little too roughly -- “ _Fuck,_ Ben, _Jesus!_ ” -- grabs the lube. Slicks his hand, runs it up John’s dick. Rises up on his knees, his dick leaving wet patterns on John’s chest. Slicks his hand up again, shoves three fingers inside himself. Shit. He’s not nearly opened up enough -- this is going to hurt. Pulls his fingers out anyway.

And then he’s lowering himself down onto John’s cock, and the pain is secondary to John’s sharp intake of breath and the sight of his eyes rolling back into his head when Ben slides all the way down in one long motion. 

“Fucking... Christ. _Ben._ ” John finally catches his urgency, grabs Ben’s hips hard enough to leave marks, and then John is moving with him. Ben spreads his knees and angles himself slightly, bracing himself against the back of the couch, and holy god, yes. This. This is what he needs. 

When John wraps his hand around his cock it’s almost too much. Each thrust, each stroke coils the heat in his groin more tightly until he doesn’t know whether to move toward or away from the sensation.

“Come on, Ben,” John whispers, and the sight of him with his pupils blown all to hell, barely hanging on, tips Ben over the edge, molten heat sliding up and down his spine. It’s almost too much again, and for a moment Ben can’t breathe, can’t see, his brain shorting out as he comes all over John’s chest, muscles clenching around John’s cock. 

“Jesus _fuck_...” and then John is holding Ben’s hips still and thrusting up into him without withdrawing, over and over, until John muffles his groans against Ben’s neck and he feels John’s cock pulse wildly as he comes.

For a few minutes all they do is breathe. Ben’s not sure he’ll ever be able to move again. 

“Fuck, I needed that.” John finally says.

Ben can feel John’s voice rumbling through his entire body. “I know.”

John lifts his head and looks at him. “You weren’t lying about the single malt, were you?” He is still out of breath. “Because if you were, I will seriously --”

“Fuck me up?” Ben huffs out a laugh. “I wasn’t lying.” 

John is smiling. “Thank Christ.”

**Author's Note:**

> Potential trigger warning: There is mention of the death of a child.


End file.
